Today, his sudden outburst of anger was nothing out of the ordinary. The meal served was not to his liking; even a blander soup was enough to make him frown. The moment he put down his chopsticks, his brows furrowed, his eyes darkening like an approaching storm. The servants hurriedly knelt to plead with him, some offering a different dish, others whispering soothing words, but he ignored them all. A cold snort escaped his lips, he stood up abruptly, grabbed the sword from the rack, put on his robe, and strode out, leaving behind the worried gazes. The wind outside the palace blew fiercely, his robes flapping. He went straight to a secluded open space, where weeds grew among pebbles, a place few dared to venture. As soon as he stopped, he drew his sword from its sheath, the cold steel glinting in the dim sunlight. His face was tense, his teeth clenched, his sharp eyes filled with rage, as if all the pent-up resentment in his heart had been channeled into the blade.

He swung his sword repeatedly, each stroke powerful and decisive, carried by his hurried breath and unquenched anger. Dust was kicked up with each step, sweat streamed down his temples, but he didn't stop. As his sword slashed through the air, he thrust his arm behind him, striking someone. A soft cry rang out, and a slender figure staggered and fell to the dry ground. It was a street vendor, her bamboo basket still untouched, her goods scattered. Startled, she propped herself up, her face covered in dust, her eyes filled with fear and astonishment as she recognized the man before her. He merely glanced down, his gaze full of annoyance, not bothering to help her up. "Are you blind?" he growled, his brows furrowed, his already simmering anger intensifying. It was as if her presence was a superfluous nuisance, only further irritating him. She hurriedly bowed her head, frantically gathering her goods, not daring to utter a word of complaint. He, seeing this, became even more irritated, snorting coldly and turning his back to continue swinging his sword. The blade cut through the air with greater force than before, each strike unleashing a torrent of accumulated frustration and annoyance. He paused, panting, glancing at her, his lips barely moving: “What are you standing there for? Get out of the way!” “Or are you going to ask me to compensate you for that pile of rubbish?”